


Comfort

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater, Soul Eater Not!
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'You weren’t trying to seduce me away from my homework and into bed with you at all.'" Clay successfully seduces Akane away from his homework.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

It’s a bit much to expect Clay to greet Akane at the door of the apartment when the meister comes in. Akane knows it’s unrealistic, so he’s not  _expecting_  it, exactly. If anything it’s an idle hope that he knows better than to entertain for any length of time. Still. There’s a flicker of disappointment when he comes in to what appears to be an empty and silent house. He thought Clay would beat him home, was half-looking forward to his weapon waiting for him, but the living room is empty as he comes through it and there’s no sound from Clay’s room when he pauses outside.

“Whatever,” he mumbles to himself, pulling his tie down an inch as he comes to his own bedroom. He has homework anyway; it won’t take long with his focused attention but --

Clay is sprawled on his stomach across Akane’s bed, feet swinging idly through the air so for a minute the meister’s attention is held by the movement before he realizes that the blond is wearing a t-shirt, and boxers, and nothing else. A moment later he realizes that Clay is in  _his_  room instead of his own, on  _his_  bed instead of the couch or his own unmade mattress, and he’s smiling even before Clay looks up from the handheld console in his hands and grins at him.

“Heya,” he offers without moving his hands. “Lemme save and I’m all yours.”

“Why are you on my bed?” Akane asks. The question has no snap to it, just honest curiosity. He sets his bag atop his desk, sheds his jacket so he can drape it over the back of the chair, and then Clay is sitting up and swinging off the edge of the bed so he can get to his feet.

“I was waiting for you to get home,” he says, like it’s perfectly reasonable to take over his partner’s room while he waits. “Your bed’s more comfortable than mine.”

Akane laughs and lets his hands fall from his tie as Clay reaches out to wind his fingers around it. The weapon steps in very close, curls his fingers around the loosened loop of fabric, and sighs against Akane’s hair as the meister speaks. “Our beds are  _identical_ , Clay, other than that you never bother to make yours.”

“Yeah, but yours is  _yours_ ,” Clay says into Akane’s forehead. His breath fogs the meister’s glasses but Akane shuts his eyes instead of protesting. “It smells like you and it feels like you, even when you’ve pulled the sheets flat and everything.”

“We’ve been living together for a year, Clay,” Akane points out as the weapon’s fingers come up against the back of his neck. He retaliates by reaching out to fit one hand against the blond’s hip and the other just under the fall of t-shirt, against the skin warmed by relaxation at Clay’s waist. “We kiss for three days and suddenly you can’t get enough of me?”

“I’m refraining from saying something terribly corny and cliche,” Clay says, with the tone of someone giving up his heart’s desire. “Something which would be true, but you would laugh at me for saying it. So let’s just say yes, that’s exactly right.”

“And the lack of pants?” Akane underlines the question by sliding two fingers under the elastic waistband of Clay’s boxers.

The weapon huffs an exhale into his hair, blowing dark hair back away from his skin. “More comfortable. Weren’t you listening?”

“Ah, of course.” Akane brings his hand farther up under Clay’s shirt and shuts his eyes entirely so he can focus on the shape of the weapon’s back under his fingertips, the shift of breath and the way the blond shifts in appreciation of the context. “You weren’t trying to seduce me away from my homework and into bed with you at all.”

“You’re very full of yourself,” Clay says. His lips shift against Akane’s forehead and his fingers come up to drag up over the meister’s scalp through his hair. “You think I have nothing better to do with my time than wait around in suggestive poses for you to get home, huh?”

“I  _know_  you have nothing better to do with your time.” Akane shifts his weight in a little closer so his hip bumps against Clay’s. He’s always surprised at how solid the weapon feels when he standing, like he’s a wall that can’t be moved until he decides to.

Clay tugs down on the meister’s tie until the fabric falls loose, shifts his hand down to grab a handful of the other boy’s shirt and pull it up and free from his slacks. “Is it working?”

Clay’s fingers are working their way up under Akane’s shirt, shoving the fabric free from his waistband and dragging heat across his hip and stomach until it’s hard for the meister to think straight. “Is what working?”

“My seduction.” Clay’s smiling, Akane can hear it in his voice. His mouth skims past the frames of the meister’s glasses and down the line of his cheek. “Think I can finally get you into bed with me?”

“Maybe if you ask nicely.” Akane is arching forward against the comforting stability of Clay’s body, fingers sliding down the weapon’s spine while he hooks his other arm around the blond’s shoulders and turns his face to offer his skin for the weapon’s lips.

“Is that all I needed to do?” Clay pulls Akane’s tie free of his collar and lets it drop to the ground. Akane doesn’t protest. “Please let me take you to bed, Akane.” The words blow gentle over the meister’s skin and make Akane shiver and smile without opening his eyes. “Let me make love to you.”

Akane shudders in reaction, a shiver of pleasure quivering under all his skin. He musters a smile and a laugh, although it comes out shaky and breathier than he intends. “How old-fashioned of you. Who knew you were such a romantic?”

“Akane.” Clay’s fingers come in hard against the back of the meister’s neck and at the curve of his waist. His mouth crushes into the other boy’s, lips pressing heat into the curve of Akane’s so hard the meister doesn’t have a chance to pull his thoughts in order before the blond is drawing back to gasp against his skin. “ _Akane_. We’re too far apart, like we’re separate people. Look, there’s all these edges and boundaries.” His fingers clench over the meister’s skin as if to demonstrate. Akane opens his eyes to stare at his weapon; Clay is watching his face, his eyes bright and blue and direct without any trace of teasing so Akane has a flicker of guilt at his own affectionate jibes.

“I want to be  _inside_  you,”Clay says, and Akane can feel the words flare into heat under his skin and burn behind his eyes before he can think to cover them.

“ _Clay_ ,” he starts, not sure what he’s saying or if he is saying anything beyond encouragement, but Clay keeps talking over him.

“Or I want you in me, I don’t really care.” Clay’s smile flashes bright and lingers in the curling corners of his mouth even when he comes back in to kiss hard at Akane’s lips. “I just want to be closer to you. That’s all.” He laughs, which helps to break the sudden tension that Akane can feel pressing down on him like an impossible weight. “So. The seduction. Is it working?”

“Uh.” Akane’s hands are shaking on Clay’s skin, he can feel them humming like his blood has turned to electricity. His laugh contributes to the tension rather than snapping it, but Clay’s smile widens instead of flickering out. “Let’s go with yes.”

“I  _flustered_  you.” Clay sounds delighted, charmed and thrilled, and he leans in to kiss Akane again. He moves too fast and hits more of the meister’s glasses than his face, but that makes Akane laugh anyway. “I can’t believe that worked. Honesty makes you more nervous than the worst teasing I can come up with, huh?”

“Shut up,” Akane says, but he can’t stop smiling even as he blushes dark and dips his head.

“Can I?” Clay is laughing against Akane’s hair, hands sliding sideways and up to pull the meister in close against him. “Please let me make love to you, Akane.”

“You’re a dork.” Akane pushes against Clay’s shoulders but the blond just pulls him in tighter. He’s not really trying to push the other away anyway. “But yeah, sure.”

“You want me to?” Clay purrs against his ear. “Tell me.” It’s not fair how fast he can go from laughing to seductive, it doesn’t give Akane’s heart a chance to recover before it stutters in his chest and his fingers clutch at whatever he’s currently touching -- the back of Clay’s shirt and the blond’s neck, as it turns out.

“I want you to  _fuck_  me,” Akane blurts without looking at Clay’s face. “ _Please_  tell me we can.”

He can feel the way Clay sucks in air, the way the weapon rocks his hips against the meister’s involuntarily before he can straighten his tongue enough to say “Yes, yes we can.”

Akane buries his face in Clay’s shoulder, bites at the weapon’s skin through the fabric of his t-shirt, and then shoves back at the blond’s shoulders while he’s still gasping in a shocked breath at the contact. Clay lets go, fingers sliding off Akane’s clothes and skin, and the meister moves sideways to come around his partner so he can climb onto the bed. He’s still half-turning when Clay follows, tackling him with one outstretched arm so they both topple backwards and Akane squeaks in a brief instinctive panic as he falls. Clay is grinning, laughing faintly at the top of his mouth so Akane can barely hear him, and his fingers are tugging a question at the meister’s shirt and hovering just over his pants like he’s wanting for permission.

“Akane?” he says, the name all loaded with the questions he’s not coherently forming, and Akane takes a deep breath, consciously steadies himself, and reaches out to gently clasp his fingers around his partner’s wrists. Clay’s hands are a little bigger than the meister’s, his bones less worryingly fragile under the other boy’s fingers, and not for the first time Akane thinks of the irony that Clay should be the enormous longsword and he of the delicate wrists and too-thin frame the wielder. But when he moves the blond’s hands to the top of his collar and his hip Clay lets the motion guide him, capitulates to Akane so smoothly that the meister isn’t sure which of them is actually leading for a moment, and he is reminded again, as he always is, why they couldn’t possibly be any way other than they are.

Clay’s fingers settle heavy and comforting against Akane’s hip while he pulls the buttons of the meister’s shirt free one-handed, impressively graceful with the movement even with the awkwardness of only one thumb and not two. Akane can’t help -- it is absolutely crucial that Clay have fingers pushing up through the short-cropped gold hair at the back of his neck, that Akane lean in to sigh in satisfaction against the weapon’s cheek. The hand at his shirtfront stutters, the other boy laughs sharp and delighted and a little shocked before he keeps moving.

“I haven’t even touched you yet,” he points out reasonably, although his voice is trembling back in his throat. “You sound like you’re already coming down the far side of an orgasm.”

“Anticipation,” Akane offers as explanation, but even as he says it his breath is coming faster, his body lighting up as if Clay’s words are reminding him that they  _haven’t_  done anything yet, that he would really like fingers or a mouth or even the pressure of a well-placed thigh against the tightness in his slacks, and he gives up the contact of one hand to reach down and start pulling at the button and zipper on his pants.

Clay laughs, gives up on the buttons for a moment in favor of reaching inside Akane’s mostly-open shirtfront and shoving up the meister’s thin undershirt so he can press his fingers in a pattern of heat against the other boy’s stomach. Akane gasps and arches, not sure if he’s flinching back from the almost-tickle or pressing in for more, and Clay shoves back hard enough that they lose their balance from almost sitting up and fall back, Clay’s hand pressing into Akane’s skin under the weapon’s weight. It’s somewhat frenzied from there, as if the meister giving in to his desperation has shattered the illusion of calm; Akane’s the one who gets his pants open and half-off in the time it takes Clay to recall himself and undo the last pair of buttons on his shirt. There’s a brief pause for Clay’s hands to catch and hold desperate at Akane’s shoulderblades while the blond pushes the meister down into the mattress and slicks his tongue hard over the other boy’s, against the roof of his mouth and the soft lack of resistance of his lips, and while Akane is still breathless from that Clay has pulled away and slid down the bed to yank his pants free of his hips. His boxers catch and come halfway too, tangling around his knees while Akane shoves up to sitting so he can push his shirt off his shoulders and peel his undershirt up and over his head. Clay has come back while he’s wrapped in the fabric, lifts and pulls so for a moment Akane is caught in a mess of half-removed clothing and supported by his weapon’s hand at his hips and one of his heels kicking hard to brace himself on Clay’s thigh. Then suddenly he’s entirely free, Clay’s hands are reaching for the inside of his elbow and the sharp dip of his hipbone, and the weapon is still exactly as clothed as he was when the meister came into the room.

“Hey,” Akane protests weakly, reaching out with his unoccupied arm to tug up at the bottom of the weapon’s shirt. “Isn’t this uncomfortable?”

“Yeah,” the blond breathes, and then tries to take his shirt off one-handed and without lifting the hand current clasping gently over the meister’s arm. This goes as well as Akane expects, which is to say it doesn’t, and for a moment he’s too busy laughing and pulling himself free to help divest Clay of his shirt to be self-conscious about his lack of clothing. Then there’s a brief, necessary separation so Clay can peel off his boxers and toss them at the wall, and  _then_  there’s too much contact, skin against skin and the hard press of Clay’s cock against Akane’s leg and friction over Akane’s own length, though he’s not sure if it’s hip or stomach or maybe fingers granting it to him, and he can’t see enough but he can’t  _be_  seen, either, and Clay is pulling him in close and kissing him, and the meister’s attention is fracturing apart into the foreign shift of Clay’s tongue in his mouth and Clay’s hands at his back and Clay’s leg under his fingers. There’s friction and heat and movement, and Akane can’t tell if he’s grinding up into Clay or the weapon is pressing down into him and it doesn’t  _matter_ , it’s just rushed and desperate and  _good_ , plugging into animal pleasure until Akane doesn’t think beyond the present for several minutes.

He comes back to himself when he slides his leg to free it from the painful dig of a knee into his thigh and Clay settles into the space, slotting in against Akane’s hips like he was always supposed to be there, and the flush of heat matches the terrified swoop of the meister’s stomach and brings him back sharply to himself.

“Clay.” His voice is heavy with pleasure and the fire under his skin, so the weapon purrs in satisfaction and slides his mouth sideways to lick under Akane’s ear. “Clay, wait.”

It is another moment, coupled with Akane pushing gently up on Clay’s shoulders, before the blond lifts his head to gaze at the meister with hazy eyes. His hair is sticking up in points from the aimless tug of Akane’s fingers and his mouth is red and swollen from crushing against the meister’s and scraping over the lines of his jaw, and his eyes are drifting languid against Akane’s face. Akane has to pause, come up to kiss that mouth again just once, hard, before he can refocus himself on the task at hand.

“Do you know how to do this?” Clay’s brow furrows in confusion and Akane keeps talking, quickly, too on edge to contemplate the possibilities for the weapon’s response. “The sex part, I mean. I have...I have some stuff, but I don’t really…”

“Some stuff?” Clay echoes back. His face is still shadowed with lust but his eyes are starting to sparkle in delight, now, and his voice is quick with amusement over the low rumble of arousal. “What, like, toys?” His finger come down from Akane’s shoulder to cling to his hip, hold him steady so the weapon can rock himself hard into the meister’s leg. He leans in to replace his fingers with his mouth, licks against Akane’s collarbone so the meister shudders under the contact. “Have you been fucking yourself thinking about me?”

“Uh.” It’s hard,  _very_  hard, for Akane to keep his thoughts in order with Clay grinding himself against his body with absolutely no trace of self-consciousness. “No. That’s the problem. I don’t...I mean, I have lube, but I don’t know how to  _do_  this, the first time.”

“Your first time?” Clay repeats again. This time the words are drawn out slow and aching over Akane’s skin.

Akane attempts a laugh, even though the sound goes strained before it escapes into the air. “Shocking, I know. And after you thought I was out fucking every student in the Academy.”

“I never thought that,” Clay says with the sudden sincerity that knocks all the self-assurance out of the meister. “I know you’ve been waiting for me. But I wouldn’t mind if you had toys. Or even just your hand.” He rocks in again, harder. “Be pretty hot, to tell you the truth.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Akane manages. His hands are down against Clay’s hips, pulling the blond in hard against his body, and he’s pushing up in a rhythm that’s matching itself to the weapon’s until he’s a little afraid they might not  _make_  it to where he wants to be. “But no. Not yet.” He laughs, short and unamused. “Great time for me to be unprepared, right?”

“It’s fine,” Clay says. His voice has the same steady weight as his shoulders, drags away Akane’s rising panic and shoulders it like it’s nothing at all. “I’ve got this. All you have to do is relax.”

“Oh, is  _that_  all,” Akane deadpans, but he does try to breathe out long and careful as Clay leans up and away, keeps himself from whining in frustration at the loss of the weapon’s weight over him.

“You  _do_  have lube, then?” Clay asks, and Akane flushes hot and has to shut his eyes and laugh at his own self-consciousness before he can form a coherent response.

“Yeah.” Even with his attempt at normalcy his voice is shaking. “It’s. In the drawer.” He throws one hand out to the side to indicate without opening his eyes, takes another breath that comes in stages as he makes himself relax and inhale further. He can feel Clay’s weight shifting over him; the mattress shifts, and the weapon’s hand comes down to brace his weight on the far side of his meister while his leg presses warm and solid against Akane’s. The sound of the drawer dragging open makes Akane blush harder, and he angles his arm over his eyes in a half-hearted attempt to cover his reaction.

“Akane.” Clay’s voice is trembling with laughter as he comes back, fingers alighting alongside the meister’s waist. “You are  _adorable_.”

“Shut up,” Akane demands. “Just  _shut up,_  Clay.”

Lips come against his shoulder and Akane shivers, lifts his arm so he can look down at the top of Clay’s head hovering over him. Clay’s looking up at him, blue eyes shining under the yellow of his hair, and when he meets Akane’s gaze he lifts his head and smiles.

“You’re beautiful, too,” Clay says calmly. “And  _god_ , so hot, it’s totally ridiculous how hot you are.” He kisses the meister’s shoulder again, a hard press of lips to skin, and Akane shudders like he’s flushing with cold instead of heat. “I can’t believe you want me when you could have anyone you want.”

“You’re absurd,” Akane points out. He reaches down to tangle his fingers into Clay’s hair for a moment and scrape his fingernails across the weapon’s scalp. “Of  _course_  I want you, you idiot.” Clay shuts his eyes and hums into Akane’s skin before he slides away and up until he’s kneeling over the meister’s legs.

“Okay.” Clay swallows, and Akane is blushing again, hot with self-awareness that this is really about to happen, but the meister closes his mouth and doesn’t cut off Clay’s words. The blond shifts his weight, pushes Akane’s legs slightly farther apart so he can settle between them instead of over them, and reaches out to retrieve the little bottle he had abandoned on the sheets next to Akane’s waist. “Are you ready?”

Akane is pretty sure his skin is burning itself into a permanent flush, but he nods his head, and Clay smiles even though the meister’s response is jerky with nerves. The blond moves to open the bottle and Akane tips his head back, stares at the ceiling and thinks  _calm, relaxed_  over and over as if it’s not just winding him more tense.

Clay’s fingers brushing against his skin are chill with liquid; it makes Akane jump before he can pull himself back into steadiness, and even then all his nerves are thrumming with a life of their own under his skin. His breathing is too loud, it feels like it’s echoing in the air over him, and when Clay says, “Akane?” it takes a moment before he can steady himself enough to answer.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He’s not fine -- he can’t relax, can’t unwind the coil of panic in his stomach, but he  _definitely_  doesn’t want Clay to stop.

“Okay.” Clay’s tone sounds disbelieving, but then his fingers are skimming just against Akane’s entrance and the meister doesn’t have any attention left to spare for response. “Relax, Akane.”

Akane tries. He really does. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and is in the middle of a second when Clay pushes a finger against him. That makes his heart thud out-of-rhythm in his chest so he chokes and can’t breathe, and then Clay is actually forcing  _into_  him and he  _can’t_  relax, there is  _no way_ , it’s too much pressure and too much size and it’s just one finger, how are they  _ever_  going to fit the weapon’s  _cock_  inside him?

“Fuck, Akane.” Clay’s voice is shaking, and for a horrible moment Akane thinks he’s upset or angry or disappointed. “Akane, I can  _feel_  you tensing up,” and it should be a rebuke but Clay’s voice is breathy with shocked delight. It doesn’t help Akane relax, but it does help his brain switch over from  _invasive_  to  _intimate_ , realizing that Clay can feel him react as if they’re Resonating.

Clay takes a breath and stabilizes his voice. “Akane. Are you okay?”

“No,” Akane says, instant with honesty, and then goes on, quick, as Clay hisses in apology and starts to pull his hand free. “No, don’t, stay where you are. It’s just...it’s  _weird_  and it hurts, a little, even with just your finger.”

“You’ll have to relax before we go any farther,” Clay points out, the words calmly honest rather than judgmental, but he stops pulling away. “Do you want me to keep going?”

Akane’s heart is racing and his skin is prickling hot and damp with panicked sweat but he nods anyway. “Yeah, keep going.”

Clay hesitates for a moment, but then he reaches to gently rest his free hand on Akane’s hip and pushes his finger in another half-inch. Even with the lubrication Akane can feel every point of friction as the weapon moves, his body tensing involuntarily at the further intrusion. He can’t take a deep breath, there’s no way he can relax into this; he whines in pained protest, arches up on the bed like it can get him  _away_ , and Clay stops instantly.

“Akane?” He’s panicked, Akane can hear the fright under his voice even without looking away from the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” Akane manages, throat tight with instinctive reaction and misery together. “I  _can’t_  relax, I’m so sorry Clay, I’m so--”

“Ssh.” Clay’s fingers leave his hip and for a moment Akane thinks he’s going to pull away entirely before the contact lands back on the meister’s fingers. “Ssh, just breathe, okay? You’re fine, everything’s fine, stay calm, you’ll be fine.”

Akane takes a sharp breath that sounds horribly like a sob, but he shifts his hand so he can feel out Clay’s fingers with his own and interlace them. Clay’s hand is warm against his palm, radiating heat and comfort, and with the heat of the weapon against him some of the tension in Akane’s throat loosens so he can take a deep breath.

“You’re relaxing,” Clay observes, his voice soft and gentle. “Keep breathing, you’re fine.” His fingers tighten against Akane’s hand and the meister exhales carefully. He can still feel Clay pressing inside him, but the weapon isn’t moving further and the panic in Akane’s body is loosening. He closes his eyes, takes a long breath and lets it out, and lets his limbs go heavy and relaxed on the bed.

“That’s it,” Clay’s voice comes into his thoughts. The weapon’s thumb slides gently against Akane’s hand, soothing comfort into his skin. “You’ve got it. How does it feel?”

“Better.” Akane takes another breath and it doesn’t stutter at all. “Give me a little more.”

Clay doesn’t ask if he’s sure, just takes Akane at his word. There’s more pressure, another rush of sensation over the meister’s skin, but when his fingers spasm in response Clay presses his palm harder against his hand and the flush of unpleasant novelty edges back into just odd sensation again.

Akane exhales slowly and licks his lips. “Okay. More.”

“That’s my whole finger.” Clay sounds shocked and breathless; Akane doesn’t need to open his eyes to see the weapon’s wide-eyed appreciation, he can hear it in the blond’s voice. “I can try moving, if you want.”

Akane takes a sharp breath and nods before he can overthink it. “Yeah. Slowly.”

“Yeah.” Clay resettles his hold on Akane’s hand, then starts to slide his finger back. The movement drags a wave of sensation in its wake; it’s still odd, input from nerve endings Akane usually ignores, but with his fingers tight on Clay’s it’s easier to relax into it and let the feeling wash over him instead of fighting it. He keeps breathing even and careful, although his lungs catch sharply on air when the weapon starts to come back in. His rhythm comes back quickly, though, and by the second thrust of Clay’s fingers he can maintain his inhalation through the whole movement.

“Oh my god,” Clay says. “Akane, I...you’re so amazing, I wish you could see yourself, it’s fucking stunning.”

Akane laughs, sounding languid with the carefully deliberate relaxation he’s picking up from Clay’s hand. “Try more.”

Clay’s breathing catches. “We can stop here, we don’t have to go any further than this.” It’s not a refusal, just an offer of hesitation, but Akane jerks his head in a shake and opens his eyes so he can look down at Clay.

There’s a moment when his thoughts go blank as he sees the way Clay is looking at him, eyes wide and glazed with heat while his gaze catches and lingers on the meister’s mouth. Then he pulls himself back together, swallows and licks his lips, and drags words up to his lips. “No, I want to keep going. I want -- I want you to fuck me, today.” Clay’s eyes jump to meet Akane’s gaze. He takes a breath. “Please.”

Clay swallows, and smiles, and settles his weight farther back on his heels. “‘Kay. I’m gonna try another finger, okay?”

“Okay.” Akane keeps his chin tipped down so he can watch Clay’s face as the weapon looks down at what he’s doing. The blond bites his lip as he slides his finger free, and when he pairs two together and presses against Akane again the meister can feel his hand shaking.

It’s a tighter fit, of course, and there’s a flash of pain right as the weapon’s fingers come back inside Akane’s body, but this time Akane can see the flush that washes red over Clay’s cheeks and the way the blond’s mouth drops open in response, and it more than makes up for the momentary discomfort.

“ _Akane_ ,” Clay whimpers, eyes still fixed on the hand Akane can feel but not see. “Oh god, Akane.”

“Keep going,” Akane says, so soft it’s almost a whisper, and Clay’s fingers around his own go tense for a moment before the weapon pushes in farther. It’s a stretch -- Akane can feel his body trying to tense, trying to reject the intrusion -- but he takes a breath and exhales the tension along with the air, and then Clay’s hand runs up against his body and they both go still for a moment.

“Okay,” Clay says, still in a breathless undertone. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Akane says, imitating the weapon’s volume without meaning to.

“Good.” Clay swallows audibly. “I’m going to fuck you open with my fingers.”

There’s a flash of heat that burns all over Akane’s body, and he rocks up into Clay’s hand without meaning to. Clay hisses in response and Akane manages to pull up “Yeah, yeah, okay, do it,” before the blond slides his fingers back and pushes forward, harder and faster this time.

It’s a  _lot_  of sensation, so close to the edge of too much that Akane can feel the tension of panic hovering just at the back of his thoughts. But it doesn’t  _quite_  hurt, just continues to feel shatteringly  _weird_ , and as Clay shifts his fingers slightly apart and pushes in a little harder the trailing edge of the feeling starts to twist into a heat that’s really close to pleasure. Akane’s breathing comes faster in time with the movement of his weapon’s hand, so by the time Clay pauses every inhale is fast and loud in his throat.

“I think you’ll be okay,” Clay says. The words shake like leaves, even before the blond forces a laugh. “Can I...do you still want me to?”

“Yes.” Akane’s nearly panting for air, and when he blinks into focus on Clay’s face the weapon looks as breathless as the meister feels.

“Okay.” Clay swallows visibly before drawing his fingers back and out, taking the almost-pleasure with them. He closes his still slick fingers around his cock and strokes lubrication over himself; Akane pushes up onto his elbow so he can press his mouth against Clay’s shoulder, gasp too-fast inhales into the weapon’s skin while the blond laughs breathily over his hair. It’s only for a moment; then Akane drops back flat to the mattress and Clay lets himself go, reaches down to gently push the meister’s legs wider apart.

“I’m ready,” Akane volunteers before Clay can ask. The weapon looks up at him, his eyes wide and looking more scared than Akane feels; his hips come in against the meister’s thighs, pushing his legs even farther apart, and the head of his cock presses against Akane’s entrance. Akane can feel Clay shaking down his arm and into their entwined fingers, and when the blond leans down to kiss him he’s breathing hard and erratic. Of course, so is Akane; his fingers are desperately tight around Clay’s hand and he can’t take a deep breath for anticipation.

Clay’s mouth is against Akane’s when he presses forward; there’s a moment of resistance, a flash of rationality as Akane thinks,  _he’s never going to fit_. Then Akane relaxes and Clay pushes and  _there_ , he’s sliding forward and inside, and Akane can’t take a proper breath anymore. The pressure is back, Clay’s stretching him wider even than his fingers managed, and it’s not quite pleasant but it’s not quite pain, not yet, so he makes another attempt to breathe as Clay comes farther forward.

The weapon gusts a shaking exhale over Akane’s mouth, groans “ _Akane_ ,” as he moves, and there’s so much heat under his name Akane thinks he might just catch fire. Clay’s fingers are clutching his so tightly that it  _is_  painful, his bones are aching under the pressure, but then the weapon takes a breath and says, “Oh my  _god_  you feel  _so good_ ,” and Akane flushes hot with nothing but responsive pleasure.

Clay keeps coming forward, deeper than Akane expected; by the time his hips come in flush with the meister’s Akane is feeling a little desperate for the inhale he can’t manage. Clay goes still and Akane sucks in grateful air, blinks up at the weapon leaning in over him.

“Oh,” Clay says.

“We’re actually having sex,” Akane says by way of response.

“I’m inside you.” Clay’s mouth is open; he doesn’t seem able to close it. “Oh my god.”

Akane laughs faintly. “Is it as good as you expected?”

“Better.” Clay responds instantly. He shifts his weight, comes down so he can support himself on his elbow while keeping his fingers wound tight with Akane’s. His free hand touches against Akane’s waist, drags down the meister’s hip and across. Akane keeps watching his face, trying to memorize the funny melted look in Clay’s eyes for future reference, and then the weapon’s fingers close around his own cock and he has to groan and arch up for more.

Clay laughs, although the amusement doesn’t override the stunned amazement in his expression. “Sorry I left you alone.” His fingers are barely slick anymore, but the cold is gone entirely and his touch nearly burns, it’s so hot. “Lemme make it up to you.”

“Okay,” Akane gasps, trying to keep his eyes in focus on Clay’s face. It’s more of a challenge than he expected. The weapon’s hand is pumping over him at a pace that he thinks would be too much, but rather than hurting it’s setting his blood on fire, turning the continued pressure of Clay’s length inside him into pleasure and the friction of his fingers hot with promise. Akane’s free hand reaches up to curl against the back of Clay’s neck, a desperate futile attempt to hold himself in place as instinct rocks him up into the blond’s touch; his hips shift on the mattress and Clay groans and shudders at the motion around his length.

“I’m gonna move,” he says, and Akane nods sharp permission. The weapon draws back, still maintaining the rhythm of his hand with impressive dexterity, and carefully pushes back forward. It  _is_  pleasant this time, no question; Akane’s pinned between Clay’s fingers and Clay’s cock, the two moving out of time to each other so he’s caught in the middle of two separate waves of sensation, and there’s still the fingers around his hand, gentle with affection now as a counterpoint to the more demanding response from the rest of Akane’s nerve endings.

He knows Clay is speeding up, thrusting a little harder and a little faster, but the weapon is increasing the rate of his hand jerking Akane off too, which is at least as much of a distraction as the continued pressure moving inside him. Pleasure is rising up along Akane’s spine and curling tight and promising in his stomach, taking all his self-consciousness with it; his hand against Clay’s neck is going tighter, anxious with anticipation, and when Clay groans his name again, “ _Akane_ ,” still sounding shattered and desperate, potential slides over the edge into promise.

“Clay,” Akane says, his voice oddly calm for how hard he’s breathing and how violently his skin is tingling. “I’m going to come, don’t stop, I’m --” Clay shifts his weight, lifts his head so he can see Akane’s face, and the meister groans and jerks up into the weapon’s touch as his vision blurs under the crush of pleasure. There’s nothing but sensation for a moment, Clay’s body against and around and inside him all blending into heat and satisfaction, and he’s still gasping in the last shocks of pleasure when his vision comes back to his attention. Clay’s watching him with his eyes wide like he’s never seen Akane before in his life; Akane loosens his desperate grip on the weapon’s neck, and smiles warm and content up at the blond.

Clay’s eyebrows go up, his hand lets go of Akane’s length to hold himself up on the bed. “Oh, god Akane,” he gasps, and his hips come forward sharp and hard; Akane can feel him come, heat and pressure punctuated with the last involuntary motions of the weapon thrusting himself forward.

Clay’s arms are shaking by the time he’s caught the rhythm of his breath again. He blinks at Akane, offers the meister a smile bright with delight, and then topples onto the bed half atop the other boy. Akane laughs, more pleased than surprised, and loops his arm around Clay’s neck so he can bring his fingers up into the other’s blond hair.

“You’re amazing,” Clay says into Akane’s shoulder. His arm comes in to press tight against Akane’s side and he fits his fingers around the meister’s shoulder.

Akane tightens his grip on the weapon’s fingers and blinks at the ceiling, letting the languid drowsiness of orgasm bleed into his veins without fighting the laziness for once. “I have a good role model.” Clay laughs into his shoulder and Akane smiles up at the ceiling. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Clay hums. He shifts his weight to a slightly more comfortable position on Akane’s shoulder and heaves a sigh heavy with satisfaction, and when Akane turns his head to kiss his forehead, he can feel Clay smile into his skin.


End file.
